Mud In The Rims
by Jamie552
Summary: The third member of the Winchester family overheats and chaos ensues...One-shot.


**Author's Note:**Ok, so I know that this is random...but I watched "Sex and Violence" again against my will and needed some happy-sappy-brother moments. I was desperate, what can I say? lol I hope you like it.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own Supernatural or it's wonderful characters. As always, if I _did_ own them, there would be a lot more hugs.

*******************

"Son of a bitch!"

The loud and sudden curse brought me out of my light doze and I took a deep breath, squinting in the harsh sunlight as I looked through the dusty glass of the windshield.

I immediately spotted my brother. He appeared out of nowhere at the front of the car, his hands and parts of his face smeared with oil. He'd taken off his leather jacket and the white t-shirt he'd been wearing underneath was dust covered and grimy.

I slowly opened my door and climbed out, furrowing my brow as I looked at the obviously frustrated expression on his face. "What's the matter?"

"Man, you can sleep through anything, you know that?"

I blinked stupidly at him. "Well, no-"

"She starts spittin' smoke, shimmyin' down the highway and you don't notice a damn thing."

Looking towards the Impala, I watched as Dean popped the hood and leaned over the exposed engine. I could feel a wave of heat crash over me and let out a low whistle. "Wow, that heat's intense." Dean let out a half sigh/half growl at my words. "What's wrong with it?"

"Well, I'm hoping it's not a blown gasket head, but I think she just overheated; she was runnin' a little hot this morning."

It was moments like that where I wished more than anything I could channel my brother's mechanical mind; he talked like that all the time, car parts and repairs, as if I understood one single word that came out of his mouth. I had no idea what a head gasket was, but it sounded important.

"So...it should be ok?"

"I dunno, gotta wait and see."

"Wait and see?"

Dean stood up straight and wiped his hands on his already dirty shirt. "Gonna give it a while; if I start her up and she's still spewin' smoke…well-" He let out a breath.

"Well what?"

"Then she's probably leaking coolant and I have a whole new problem."

"The blown head…gasket…thingy?"

He looked over at me, his patented expression of amusement and disgust on his face. "The blown head gasket _thingy_?"

"Whatever you said before-"

"A blown gasket head?"

"Yeah, that."

He snorted. "Yeah, _that_. If it is a blown gasket head, we gotta find ourselves a garage."

"What, you can't fix it?"

"I can fix it no problem, but I need _tools_ – I don't have the right stuff in the back to deal with something wrecked like that."

"Great-" I let out a breath and moved over to the side of the car, leaning back against it. "What do we do now?"

"Nothing. Wait for a bit, kill time."

"Doing what?"

"I dunno…twiddling our thumbs, spotting shapes in the clouds-"

"Bite me."

Dean laughed, moving to stand beside me. "I was bein' serious." He had a surprisingly soft smile on his face which contrasted sharply with the still present smears of motor oil on his cheek. "You used to be into that stuff."

"Yeah, when I was five."

"Try around nine and ten." He chuckled again. "Can't tell you how many times me and Dad found you lyin' on the hood of the car lookin' at the sky…lost in your own geekdom universe."

"And didn't you ever do stuff like that when you were a kid?" I looked over at him. "Look at the sky? Get lost in your own world?"

Dean was quiet for a minute and looked down at the road, kicking a stone around meekly with the tip of his hiking boot. "Nah, not really." He finally said, letting out a breath. "I was born grown up, Sammy."

There was a smile in his voice, a humor that was familiar…I knew it well; it was his _'this actually bothers me, so I'll smile to cover up how I really feel'_ humor. I knew that's how Dean was. He never had been the caring and sharing type, he'd never been one to spill his emotions randomly or easily. Normally, getting him to talk about how he was really feeling was a lot like pulling teeth…it was like pulling achy, abscessed, enflamed, hurts-like-hell teeth. But then again, when he actually wanted or needed to talk about how he was feeling, all it took was a cold beer and a little bit of poking and prodding. He was the prime example of both extremes, and he never, not once, settled in the middle.

_Where_ he sat on the scale usually varied with his mood.

I could tell that he meant his words as a joke, but I could also tell that he completely meant what he'd said. He'd been born an adult; a grown man living as a twelve year old.

Dean sighed and pushed himself from the side of the car; the greasy rag that he been sticking out from the back pocket of his jeans was suddenly in his hands. The _'cover up how I really feel'_ smile was still on his face.

"Guess something had to happen sooner or later."

"What do you mean?"

"We've crossed three states, Sam; since when does our luck let us do _anything_ without _something_ goin' to crap?"

I blinked stupidly again. "Well, when you put it like _that_-"

"Just _once_ I'd like it if our luck was good luck."

"Keep the glass half full, Dean."

He smirked at me. "The glass _is_ half full, Sammy…but the glass is also way too big."

And so we were stuck there; Dean every once in a while popping the hood again and hovering while I laid across the front bench seat, my legs sticking out through the open passenger door. The air was warm and comfortable, the only sounds were the crickets in the long grass at the side of the road and the occasional car speeding past us. A few people stopped to ask us if we needed any help, but Dean shot them down practically every time. _"Car just overheated-_" He'd say, "_Thanks, but we're ok."_

I recognized Dean's _basketcase mechanic_ persona immediately and decided the safest place for me was in the car, out of his way and out of trouble.

He was already yelling and cursing at his baby, I didn't want that kind of attention on me.

The driver's door was pulled open and as I angled my head to look at Dean upside down, he gestured with his hand for me to move out of his way. I sat up slowly, letting out a breath as he settled in behind the wheel.

"Come on baby, come on baby-" He was muttering quietly, grasping the key in the ignition and gently turning it as if in an effort to sweet talk the Impala in obedience.

He visibly perked up at the sound of the rumble, the engine fighting to turn over. Whatever the problem was, his baby was givin' it hell.

"Come _on_ baby, you can do it-"

"Uh, Dean?" I let out a breath and shook my head. "Maybe it's time for a tow truck, you know? Time to embrace the horror."

"Embrace _what_ horror?"

"That it's a blown header gaskets-"

"Blown gasket head!"

"Whatever, I'm just saying, you've been fighting with it for an hour and a half…I don't think it's gonna happen, man."

"Oh, it's gonna happen-" He gnashed his teeth and turned the key again. "She's not givin' up on me now."

Letting out another breath, I relaxed back into the seat. I couldn't help but frown as I watched the emotions flash across Dean's face—panic, anger, frustration…and finally, last but not least…desperation. If climbing outta the car, falling to his knees, and begging with everything he had would've solved the problem, I knew he would've done it.

"Dean-"

"Come on now, sweetheart-"

"_Dean_-"

"I'm not quittin', Sam. So shut up."

"Maybe she just needs the good stuff, y'know? Put her up on the lift, check things out…maybe there's something you're missing. I mean…" I trailed off lamely, trying to figure out the sudden noises Dean was making. He was humming, his eyes closed as he held onto the key still in the ignition. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

"Sam, shut up."

He went back to humming and it only took me a few seconds more to recognize the tune. "_When The Levee Breaks? _You're humming _Led Zeppelin_?"

He didn't answer me, just kept on humming.

He hummed the entire first verse and the chorus before finally turning the key again.

My eyes widened as the engine turned over perfectly, the loud throaty rumble filling the quietness at the side of the road.

Dean's face broke into a wide smile and he opened his eyes, dropping his hand from the key and settling back against the vinyl. Leaning back in victory. "Atta girl."

With my eyes still wide, and my mouth popped open like a moron, I said, "What just happened?"

"She loves me, Sammy, what can I say?"

"But…you said it was _smoking_, and sputtering, and shimmying. We've been sitting here for almost two hours-"

"You got no faith, little brother." He said lazily, looking over at me. "Metallica calms _me_ down…Zeppelin calms _her_ down."

"You are _unbelievable_."

Dean arched an eyebrow and smirked at me. "True."

He slid out of the car quickly and moved back around to the front, grabbing the rag from his back pocket and using it to lift the warming hood, peering inside. The Impala was still running perfectly, the sound of the purr getting louder as soon as Dean exposed the engine.

And as if the car was getting louder in happy response to his presence, Dean grinned, swiping the back of his hand across his cheek and adding yet another smear of dirt and grime.

After a moment, I slid out of the car too and shuffled around to stand beside him. "So everything's cool now?" I nearly shouted over the rumble. "Just overheated?"

Dean nodded, carefully lowering the hood and snapping it back into place. "Yeah, looks that way."

"It gonna happen again?"

"We'll just take it easy. Drive as far as the next town, get a room and park her for the night. She should be good for hittin' the road again tomorrow."

"And if she's _not_ good for hittin' the road tomorrow?"

He paused for a second, blinking, before shrugging and looking over at me. "Then I try humming _Dazed and Confused_, she _really_ likes that one."

All I could do was stare at him.

************

To say that the nearest town was in the middle of nowhere would've probably been the biggest understatement of the century.

We rolled into Barstow, Texas just a little over an hour later and Dean made quick work of finding us a motel just inside the boundaries of town. The sun was just starting to set and I shivered lightly as I pushed open my door; a second creak of hinges met my ears and Dean slid out as well, looking at me over the roof of the car. "You wanna get the bags and I'll check in?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Grab the extra buckshot while you're in the trunk-" He added quietly. "I wanna clean and load up the sawed-offs."

I nodded and watched as Dean pushed closed the car door and tossed me the keys, then walked with a purpose towards the motel's office.

Opening the trunk, I grabbed both my duffel and Dean's, setting them down carefully on the pavement beside my feet. As was usual tradition, I took a subtle look around the parking lot to make sure I was alone before lifting the second lid in the trunk; the sturdy wooden plank covered completely in black material. My eyes met the familiar sight of our weapon store—the deep crevices filled with rock salt and silver bullets, extra mags for each of our handguns and shells for our shotguns, consecrated rounds and knives made of practically every substance imaginable. There were rosaries and small plastic bottles of holy water, yellowed photocopies of exorcism rites crinkled and ripped from overuse.

To any other person, the sight of the store would've given goosebumps—a feeling of nervousness or fear. But for me, all it did was make me smile.

It had been organized the same exact way for as long as I could remember, so finding the extra buckshot was easy.

I grabbed the empty duffel bag that was stuffed into one of the crevices and quickly spread it open, loading a box of buckshot, our two favorite sawed-offs, and for good measure, our two favorite handguns and mags.

_Dean'll want them later anyway. Might as well save him the trip. _

I closed the trunk.

"Sam?" Looking up, my eyes fell on Dean. He'd come out of the office and was standing at the front of the car; I spotted the room key in his hand. "Got everything?"

"Yeah, think so."

"Need help?"

I shook my head, throwing the strap of the weapons duffel over my shoulder before bending down and grabbing the other two bags sitting on the pavement. "What room?"

"Twelve."

As soon as I stepped up onto the sidewalk, Dean made a grab for one of the duffels. I gladly handed it over, readjusting the weight of the weapons on my shoulder.

The room was practically the same as any other motel room we'd stayed in—two double beds, a small dresser with a TV bolted to the top, and a small doorway in the very back that I knew was the shoebox sized bathroom. There was no table and chairs as we were used to and I gave a mental sigh, realizing that I had no logical place to keep my computer.

Ah well, you can't have everything.

Dean, as always, took the bed closest to the door. Instinctively I moved to the other bed as soon as I walked into the room, lugging my duffel bag up and tossing it down onto the bedspread.

"Gotta crank the heat-" Dean said suddenly from across the room. "It's like a friggin' meat locker in here."

"It's cold outside. It's probably going to rain tonight."

"Fantastic."

"I sleep better when it rains."

"That's 'cause you're jacked."

I shot him a glare over my shoulder and he responded with a lopsided grin. I knew that grin well—it was a grin that said _'I'm the older brother, deal with it'_.

And so like I usually did…I dealt with it.

"We got any jobs comin' up?"

Lounging back against the headboard of my bed, I shook my head lightly. "Haven't looked yet."

"Good. Don't."

I frowned. "Why not?"

"I wanna take tomorrow off."

"What for?"

"The car was still runnin' a little hot so I wanna check her over again. I wouldn't mind givin' her a wash, either."

"A _wash_?"

It was Dean's turn to frown. He looked at me like I was a complete idiot. "Yes, Sam, a _wash_. You know, you get buckets and rags, water with bubbles in it? Makes my car all shiny? The lady in the office said she had some stuff I can use."

I blinked at him for a minute and then very slowly gave a nod. "Alright."

"And you're gonna help."

"What? _Me_?"

"Yeah, you."

"I don't think so."

Dean's frown deepened. "Why not?"

"'Cause you'll pick on me the whole time, just like you did the last time I tried to help you-"

He sighed. "Sam, I will not-"

"Yes, you will."

"You're _pissin'_ me off, I will not!"

**************

"Ok, you're workin' here-" Dean moved to the side of the Impala, motioning to the rear side panels. Grabbing a bucket slopping with soapy water, he set it down beside the car. "Easy enough?"

It was just before eleven the following morning and the sun was shining brightly. The car was parked right outside out room, and as the owner of the motel had promised, she'd fully supplied us with buckets and rags. We'd had to buy our own soap, which Dean crowed was completely worth it if it made his car happy.

I thought for a second about explaining to him that his car wouldn't know the difference, but I knew that my logic would be wasted.

He'd only call me a nerd.

Watching as Dean walked around the car to his own bucket, I said, "What are you gonna do?"

"Clean the rims-" He grunted as he couched down by the right rear wheel and out of sight. "That side road the other night got mud all in there, it's gonna end up throwin' the balance off."

"Mud in the tires?"

"Mud in the _rims_."

"Is there a difference?"

"Is there a diff-" Dean broke off and sighed loudly. "Just, nevermind."

Dean's usual rock music was blaring from inside the car and I couldn't help but smile just a little bit. It seemed almost surreal; the two of us, listening to music and washing the car…almost like regular folk. If I'd closed my eyes, I could've sworn we were hanging out together in the driveway of one of our own houses, a familiar neighborhood bustling around us.

But we weren't in a driveway _or_ a familiar neighborhood—we were in a motel parking lot in the middle of Southern Texas.

At that realization, the smile didn't leave my face though.

After all, we were still together.

"How's it goin' over there, Sammy?"

Reaching into the bucket, I pulled out the soaking wet rag and wrung out the excess water. "Alright."

"Good stuff."

We spent most of our time in silence, listening to the music and every once in a while singing along. The day only got nicer, the sun shining with a light breeze in the air.

Every once in a while Dean wandered over to check out what I was doing. At first it didn't bother me, I kinda smiled at him and listened to what he had to say. It was his car, after all.

Around the _tenth_ time he came over to critique my scrubbing skills, I lost it and finally threw the rag at him before stomping back inside.

It took only five minutes for me to end up back outside, scrubbing at the headlights with a sheepish look on my face.

**************

I had no idea what time it was, but I guessed that it was sometime after six.

The sun was setting and the air was cool, but it was refreshing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dean slowly sit up, raising his beer to his mouth and taking a long sip.

The cool metal of the hood radiated through my jeans and I shivered slightly, adjusting my position as I was lying back against the windshield.

We'd been sitting there for a while, Dean already on his third beer, me still working on my first. It was the usual way of things; Dean was quick with the alcohol intake, and I always lagged behind. I knew that it was for the best, anyway—someone needed to be able to get behind the wheel when we finally decided we were bored of the silence and the stillness.

We hardly ever got bored of silence and stillness, so I knew we'd be sitting there for a while.

Dean took another pull from his beer bottle. "Cold?"

Glancing at him, I shook my head even though he couldn't see it. "Nah, I'm alright. It's nice."

"You drag the tread of your shoes against the hood and ruin the wax job, you're doin' it all over again tomorrow."

I snorted. "Yeah, ok."

"I mean it, bitch."

"Yeah, jerk, whatever."

Dean looked over at me and I was a little surprised to see the soft smile on his face. He looked calm, almost peaceful as we sat there together on the hood of the car. I couldn't help but smile back at him, his good mood was infectious.

We'd rolled out of Barstow only a couple of hours before, both of us going stir crazy in the small and stuffy motel room. I had no idea where we were headed—I don't think Dean did either. But it didn't matter.

The car wasn't overheating.

She was clean.

Dean was smiling.

And the reflective surface of the headlights after I'd cleaned them had made him proud.

Life at that moment was pretty good.


End file.
